


you're my best day ever

by paradis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradis/pseuds/paradis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things Stiles is learning he loves about Cora Hale:  the way her nose crinkles when she laughs, the hitch in her breath when Stiles settles his hands on her waist; she likes cheesy puns, Stiles learns one lazy Saturday afternoon in bed, when they’re naked between the sheets and he tells a cheesy joke and she laughs until she cries, shrieking and kicking her feet out into the cool air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're my best day ever

**Author's Note:**

> Title is based, sort of, off Blake Shelton's song "Mine Would Be You" from the line, 'if I had to choose, my best day ever' and I just altered a bit because there's a line in the fic that also fit. The fic is also inspired by this fic, but also prompted to me by Darien, who asked for Cora and Stiles and Cora teasing Stiles about his ice cream choice. 
> 
> Which is definitely incorporated.

Things Stiles is learning he loves about Cora Hale: the way her nose crinkles when she laughs, the hitch in her breath when Stiles settles his hands on her waist, the way she glares at him when he says something just so ridiculous, and Stiles just knows what she’s thinking, the way she gets hiccups if she laughs too much at something Stiles says, and then refuses to talk to him for ten minutes afterwards, glaring at him indignantly because it is _his fault_ dammit. 

He learns new things every day of course: Cora likes her food practically plain – no salt or pepper, almost never likes ketchup on her burgers or her fries, or gravy on her mashed potatoes. She doesn’t like any foods touching. Sometimes when they go to parties with the rest of the pack, she’ll smoke a Marlboro Red or two with the guys standing outside, laughing and talking, and she’ll come in and kiss Stiles, and Stiles always thought he’d hate the taste, but he doesn’t mind it when it’s Cora. She likes beer, warm and flat from the keg, and she’s weird like that, likes the _taste_ even though nobody likes the goddamn taste of fucking cheap keg beer from a high school party, especially werewolves who can’t get drunk. She listens to classic rock every day forever, has albums on vinyl squirreled away in her room in Derek’s loft that she forces him to buy when she drags Derek out to shop every Sunday. Led Zeppelin, The Beatles – anything you can think of, Cora probably listens to it. She likes cheesy puns, Stiles learns one lazy Saturday afternoon in bed, when they’re naked between the sheets and he tells a cheesy joke and she laughs until she cries, shrieking and kicking her feet out into the cool air. 

Stiles can’t wipe the grin off his face for the whole day after that. 

Cora’s real and human and perfect for Stiles in every way – she balances him out. She’s strong where he’s weak and weak where he’s strong, and they pick each other’s slack up and help one another and push the other to the finish line each and every time they need it. 

“You should take me for ice cream,” Cora says on a Sunday after she’s done dragging both Derek and Stiles around the local flea market. Derek has fled the scene, something about lunch with Isaac, but it sounded kind of sketchy, to Stiles. Once Cora had mentioned going to an antiques store, Derek had gotten this paralyzed look of fear on his face and Stiles could tell he was trying to come up with whatever excuse he could to escape. 

Cora laces her fingers with Stiles’ and smiles up at him and her nose crinkles and her eyes shine, and Stiles feels himself giving in, never would’ve said no to her anyway. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, stepping forward, leaning closer, just until his lips can brush across her nose, and Cora laughs, tilts her head back and just grins at him, hand tightening in Stiles’. They walk back to the car and the sun beats down on Stiles’ shirt and it’s a pleasant heat, spreading through him, all the way through to his fingertips where they meet Cora’s, sparks lighting up his system. 

He opens the door for Cora when they reach the Jeep and she rolls her eyes a little, but she’s smiling anyway, and she reels him in for a kiss, this one long and slow, sweltering like the late evening summer sun, buzzing like the heat of July, and Stiles smiles into it and hooks his fingers through her belt loops and tugs her close and kisses her long and sweet standing outside the Jeep while she sits inside for what feels like forever. 

These are the best moments, he thinks when he finally pulls away, and when he closes the door Cora slips her sneakers off and places her bare feet up on the dash and Stiles just bets she agrees with him. 

He takes the scenic route to a Dairy Freeze on the side of the highway just a little ways outside of town that has soft serve that comes in fifty different flavors, some of them absolutely absurd. The fascinating thing about Cora, the thing about Cora that Stiles has already discovered and stated before is that she’s simple and real and easy to understand: she orders chocolate in a cone and steps back and waits because Stiles is still contemplating the gazillions of flavors. “Stiles,” she finally huffs, and she sounds annoyed, but Stiles looks up, and she looks amused, arms crossed and a smile fighting its way across her face. 

“Just _choose one,_ ” she says, exasperated, and Stiles gives her a pathetic look. 

He turns back to the board and closes his eyes and points to one at random. “That one,” he says when he opens his eyes, and the guy behind the counter just stares at him. 

“It’s July,” he says. 

“So?” Stiles demands. 

“You want pumpkin flavored ice cream in July?” Cora demands, apparently asking the question both her and the person working behind the counter would like to know the answer to. “Who the fuck eats anything pumpkin outside of like – autumn?” 

“Well why would you put pumpkin up as an ice cream flavor in July if you didn’t want to sell it in July?” Stiles counters, and both Cora and the Dairy Freeze employee seem to not have an answer to this question. 

“Six thirty-six,” the employee says, holding out a hand, and Stiles counts out the change and hands it to him. Stiles steps to the side next to Cora and they wait for their ice cream. Cora pokes him in the side. 

“What’s pumpkin ice cream taste like?” Cora asks him. 

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, “I’ve never had it.”

“You really just chose your ice cream at random?” Cora asks, arching a brow. “That was so stupid.” 

“What? Why? Pumpkin sounds like a totally reasonable flavor,” Stiles argues. A Dairy Freeze employee calls their number and they both grab their ice cream cones and Stiles gestures for them to head back out to the Jeep. “Sit up on the hood,” Stiles tells her, and Cora agrees, handing Stiles her ice cream cone to hold while she jumps up and gets comfortable. She takes both the ice cream cones while Stiles jumps up next to her, and when they’re both comfortably sat on the hood of the Jeep, facing the highway, Cora starts licking at her cone. Stiles stares down at his burnt-orange colored ice cream cone tentatively. 

“What?” Cora asks, noticing. “Your ice cream is going to start melting.” 

“It’s not a very – yummy looking color.” 

“What.” Cora says flatly. 

“I just – y’know.” 

“Stiles, eat your ice cream, you freak,” Cora says, and sounds like she’s trying to smother a laugh. 

Stiles takes a lick of his cone and swallows, thoughtful, before taking another lick, and then another. Cora watches him for a moment, and then waits for him to say something. “’S good,” Stiles mumbles around a mouthful of pumpkin flavored ice cream. Cora looks at him in disbelief. 

“Gimme,”she demands, holding her hand out for the cone, and Stiles holds it out of her reach until she’s leaning over into his lap, and he’s leaning over the side of the Jeep. “Stiles, we’re gonna fall, you moron,” she says, but she’s grinning, fingertips still reaching out for the ice cream cone. 

Stiles sits up straighter again and holds out the cone for her, and when she reaches for it, he snatches it away at the last moment, and she scowls, a low growl building in the back of her throat, and Stiles can’t help it, he laughs, loves it when Cora gets just a little out of control. “You’re an ass,” Cora mutters, but instead of pulling away, she rests her head on Stiles’ shoulder, and instead of teasing her again, Stiles offers her the ice cream, and she takes it cautiously, sniffing at it. 

“It doesn’t smell like it would taste good at all,” she says, looking down at the ice cream cone, which is now starting to melt. 

“It tastes good,” Stiles promises. 

Cora takes a look and grimaces. “Stiles, this is disgusting. It doesn’t even taste like pumpkin. Oh my god, this is awful. What is wrong with you? You’re so weird.” Cora shakes her head and shoves the ice cream cone back in Stiles’ hand, quickly going back to licking her own chocolate one. “Oh god, that was so bad,” she groans, shaking her head again. 

“I like it,” Stiles says, offended. 

In the end, Cora continues to complain and tease him for choosing such an awful flavor, and Stiles teases her for picking something as plain as chocolate, and they sit on the hood of the Jeep and watch as the stars come out, Cora tucked into Stiles’ side. 

++

Stiles crawls into bed next to Cora and turns the light out. 

Things Stiles secretly loves about Cora Hale: she hates her middle name but loves when Derek calls her by her full name when they’re fighting to get a point across (“it’s a sign of _affection_ from him Stiles”), she loves the color purple but hates wearing it, if a page in a book makes her cry, she places a sticky note inside it on the edge of the page so that it sticks out as a book mark so she can find it to read again (“I like to read beautiful things that hurt, Stiles”), she never makes her bed (“because it’s just getting unmade again in twelve hours”). 

And she has the hardest time saying “I love you,” to Stiles, it seems to get stuck in her throat every single time she tries, but the one thing that makes up for it, the one thing Stiles secretly loves more than anything else is when he crawls into bed next to her and she rolls over and flings an arm across his chest and rests her head on his shoulder, and kisses his neck, and whispers _sweet dreams_ against his skin. 

And these are the best days ever, Stiles thinks sleepily when Cora is tucked against his side, sound asleep. 

Hands down.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested you can find me @ dylanobilinski on tumblr.


End file.
